


Recalibrated

by theoldgods



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Drugged Sex, Established Relationship, For Science!, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Harry Hart Lives, Harry as Arthur, Intercrural Sex, Lab Sex, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Post-Movie(s), Riding, Science Experiments, Sex Pollen, Showers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 22:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3871732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theoldgods/pseuds/theoldgods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's got a working prototype of his latest seduction help ready; Harry is looking forward to soberly <i>assisting</i> him as Merlin tests it on himself. And yet with some experiments there's no controlling for human error...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recalibrated

**Author's Note:**

> "Mildly dubious consent" refers only to the entire sex pollen/lust potion conceit and to the way in which these two screw up their experiment slightly, nothing more. This is set postmovie with the magic of "Harry survived and is Arthur"; feel free to insert your favorite handwaving-of-death mechanism here.
> 
> As always: American who double- and triple-checks but sometimes trips on the finer points of Britpicking. Feel free to offer any needed corrections on that point, here or at [tumblr](http://theoldgods.tumblr.com).

Harry has a decent amount of energy left when his personal phone beeps at 7:04 PM, interrupting a readthrough of reports on yesterday’s missions. The text, straightforward as it is, makes him smile:

_Prototype dinner?_

He considers for a moment before texting back.

_Reports. 8?_

Unsurprisingly, the reply comes before he can even close out of the app.

_Bring supplies._

When Harry eventually shuts down his workstation for the night at 8:02, he considers exactly what _supplies_ might be of most use. The only thing he keeps handy is a bottle of lube, hidden behind the painkillers in his top drawer; the rest of their supplies are scattered under various beds across London. He slides the bottle into his trouser pockets and considers searching for more before, laughing to himself, heading for the train to the estate.

Merlin’s lab is underground, with the rest of Kingsman’s potentially dangerous experiments; Harry enters to find candlelight reflecting off the metal surfaces. Merlin is seated on one side of a small table, fumbling with the electric candle set alongside a vase of roses, two full plates (steak), and two glasses of wine.

Harry places the bottle of lube alongside the vase; Merlin’s fingers cup his cheeks, running along the edge of the prosthetic eye.

“All okay?” he asks, his voice low, deep, and warm.

“Just paracetamol today,” Harry replies, softly, wrapping his own fingers around Merlin’s wrist.

Merlin kisses his forehead. “Good.” He looks down at the half-empty bottle of lube. “Just the one?”

“Christ, what is this, a perpetual wank machine?”

“Prototypes are finicky, that’s all.” Merlin plucks a vial from the neighboring countertop and places it in Harry’s hands, his eyes glittering. “You never know.”

“Sex in a tube?” It’s maybe five centimeters long in total, the glass cold to his touch. The liquid inside is deep red—Harry holds it alongside a wine glass to confirm his suspicions.

“Can be made to match any drink,” Merlin confirms, gently taking back the vial. “Since I’m fond of merlot, I thought we’d go with that for tonight.”

“So would we need to know targets’ drink orders?”

“Clear will probably work just as well. Let an old man have some art with his science for once, aye?”

Harry shakes his head, smiling ruefully. “Who, precisely, is seducing whom here?”

“I’m seducing myself, and you’re along for the ride because I’ll be damned if I’m wasting sex at my stage of life.”

“Right, well, I read your bloody reports at 2 AM, alone in my bed with only a headache and my own right hand for company, so forgive me if the details are still hazy—how far does this go? Do you turn into a right horndog within ten minutes of ingestion?”

Merlin scowls. “Did you take the paracet—”

“ _Yes_.” Harry kisses Merlin’s hand, allowing his teeth to brush against the skin for extra emphasis. As Merlin sniffs he continues, “I was faffing about waiting for it to kick in and hoping desperately that your reports would be dull enough to put me to sleep in the meanwhile.”

“I’ll kick you, invalid or no,” Merlin warns, rolling his eyes as Harry continues working his lips over his hand.

“This _invalid_ is going to shag your brains out in less than an hour, _without_ your magic cock potion,” Harry reminds him. “Do we eat first?”

The steak is still warm, thankfully, and quite nice—whichever underling Merlin put to work making the meal did a satisfactory job. Harry’s cleared about a quarter of his plate when Merlin uncaps the vial and holds it up to the light, watching the colors swirl.

“Shouldn’t take _too_ much; I think I have this fairly strong.” Merlin’s face looks drawn nonetheless. He meets Harry’s eyes over the candle. “Are you sure?”

“This is torture, you asking me if I want to shag over and over again. A lesser man would be offended by your lack of faith.”

“It’s just an odd situation, is all.” Merlin empties the vial into his wine glass and stirs with the handle of his fork, ignoring Harry’s raised eyebrow. “This is meant to be slow acting—unsuspicious, like. When it’s finalized I mean to have it be completely undetectable in effect to the target, in addition to taste.”

“And this is pretty far along, yes?” Harry asks, as Merlin removes his fork from the wine glass and spears another chunk of meat. “You’ve done previous tests?”

“In simulations and on a particularly eager minion who, unfortunately for him, did not seem to react at all.”

Harry chokes on his mouthful of asparagus. “Impotent even with cock potion. That is cruel.”

“I...may have missed the dosage on that batch, left a few things poorly calibrated,” Merlin mutters. “I upped everything for this one.” He finishes another piece of steak and turns his attention to the wine glass. “Well, cheers.”

“Cheers,” Harry murmurs, watching as Merlin takes a sip and swallows, in what appears to be comically slow motion. He waits ten seconds before checking in. “All still here?”

Merlin flutters his eyelashes and licks his lips. “So far, monsieur.”

Harry kicks his shins under the table as he takes a sip of his own wine, smiling against the rim of the glass as Merlin kicks back.

“Oh, sorry—”

Merlin gets to his feet before the speaker has even finished; Harry, empty of weapons for once in anticipation of shagging an experimentally drugged Merlin, shifts his grip on his steak knife, feeling his muscles tense for throwing as he turns to face the doorway.

“You bloody idiot, that door was supposed to be locked!” Merlin snaps as Eggsy begins walking toward the table.

“Sorry, guv—just wanted to pass on the flash drive from this morning, yeah?”

Merlin swears under his breath. “Forgot that fucker,” he mutters to Harry, who isn’t sure whether he means Eggsy or the flash drive but who is entertained anyway, spinning the steak knife lightly in his right hand and enjoying the way Eggsy’s eyes keep darting to the blur of metal. “You can put it by the big rig,” he tells Eggsy, nodding in the direction of the lab’s main computer, “and then you can slide that arse of yours right out the way you came.”

Eggsy grins at their table set-up as he obeys. “Didn’t mean to interrupt or nothing.”

“I find that curiously hard to believe.” Merlin’s hands twitch as he watches Eggsy deposit the flash drive on the counter and head back toward the door; Harry frowns.

“Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything, mate, like fake candlelight dinn—that the shit? From the other day?”

“What?” Merlin asks, scooping up the empty vial from the middle of the table.

“It _is_ , innit?”

“‘The shit from the other day’?” Harry repeats, looking from Merlin to Eggsy and back again. “You didn’t say Galahad was your ‘minion.’”

“Well, he’s young enough to be one,” Merlin grumbles, getting to his feet once more. “Out, Eggsy, unless you want more than your arse can handle.”

“And how you know what my arse can take?” Eggsy’s grin is wicked as he opens the door. “Not watching security footage of me wanking, I hope, Merlin.”

“I have Arthur’s; I don’t need your twink arse.”

Harry bites down a laugh and takes a long sip of wine.

“‘Course, Merlin. Hope your shagging goes better than mine.”

“I recalibrated,” Merlin tells Eggsy’s back, shutting the door on him. Harry smiles and takes another sip as Merlin shuts the inner, soundproofing door as well, cutting off the sound of Eggsy’s laughter.

“Double check those locks,” Harry instructs, running a finger along the rim of the glass. His heart is already thudding in his chest, buoyed by what he has to admit is a nicely potent merlot. “I don’t want to be interrupted balls-deep in your arse.”

“Funny how you think you, my designated sober fuckee, are going to be the one with his cock shoved in anything except maybe my hand,” Merlin retorts as he returns to the table and takes up his fork once again. “Eat some more; I can feel sweat on my temples already, so I want to be well finished by the time this shit starts up in earnest.”

“Yes, Daddy.” Harry grins as Merlin’s shoulders tighten. “Can I at least have your mouth?”

“Oh, probably,” Merlin says, waving his fork in the air as he chews potato. “I’m feeling generous.”

“And horny,” Harry murmurs, noting how shiny Merlin’s forehead has grown in the past few minutes. His own neck is hot; he loosens his tie in between bites. “Like a rosebush.”

“That’s fucking _thorny_.” Merlin is laughing nonetheless. “As in, it’s thorny, has thorns, not as in you’re fucking a rosebush.”

Harry’s tongue is loose in his mouth, the sort of carelessness he associates mostly with ill-fated attempts at drinking in secondary. He finishes three quarters of his plate before pushing it to the side, whatever hunger he had replaced by the lightheadedness of alcohol.

“Christ, that’s strong merlot,” he grumbles, undoing his tie entirely and placing it on the adjacent countertop. Heat continues to roll from his stomach through the rest of his body. Across the table, Merlin is scratching lightly at his own neck with a hand shining with sweat, his pupils wider than they had been even two minutes before. “Didn’t think your Caledonian alcoholism extended to wine, eh?”

“It’s just whatever the berks in food services picked up the last time they went out,” Merlin says, rolling the empty vial between his palms. “Done?”

“Yes, just let me finish my wine.” Harry reaches for his glass and stops midway, scowling.

“What, too sour all of a sudden?” Merlin’s grin is wicked and overly wide. “If you’re going to hurl, don’t do it on me.”

“No, I just—I drank while you were dealing with Eggsy.”

“I wish I could’ve been drunk while dealing with Eggsy.”

“I had several sips. Big sips.”

Merlin eyes the nearly full glass in front of Harry. When the swearing begins, it’s impressive even to Harry’s ears.

“—Buggering shitting _Christ_ , Harry, you dolt—”

Harry takes a sip of the wine glass directly in front of him. It’s subtle, but the intensity of the flavor simply isn’t what he’d experienced earlier.

“This is what your cock potion does, then, make you careless and hot and drunk even only on a few sips?” Harry slides his glass away. “That’s brilliant. They barely taste different.”

“Any taste difference at all is crap,” Merlin grumbles, setting his own glass aside. His temper is already subsiding, to be replaced with appraising glances in Harry’s direction. “But without another to compare it to, maybe it doesn’t matter.”

“My prick is hardly stirring. I thought this was a cock potion, not a particularly intense queer-tasting alcohol potion.”

“Give it a moment.” Merlin’s eyes flash at the insult to his work. “You’re a few minutes behind me, yes? You’re the next stop on the cock train, don’t worry.”

“Put up or shut up, as the youth say.”

Merlin stands, half-engorged cock emerging from his opened trousers. “Good enough?”

Harry bites his lip. “Well, if it makes you even thicker, I don’t think I’ll be able to take you at all. The sacrifices we make for science.”

“That is _terrible_ ,” Merlin says, moving to stand over Harry, one hand on his prick. “I’d be wilting if it weren’t for the cock juice.”

“Cock _potion_ ,” Harry corrects, sliding his fingers onto the head of Merlin’s cock. Merlin shudders. “Juice is what a cock does all the time anyway. Come on, let’s do this.”

As he gets to his own feet, unzipping his trousers, Merlin strokes himself. “You weren’t meant to get dosed up. I can just do myself—”

“I want you, stupid bugger.”

Harry’s cock is heavy; his entire lower abdominal region tingles as he leans against the counter and pulls Merlin onto him by the waist. Merlin bites his ear, lightly, and pulls at his pants and trousers, freeing Harry’s prick into the chilly lab air.

“This is a terrible idea,” Merlin murmurs as he grabs the base of Harry’s cock and squeezes. Harry groans against his neck. “No brakes now.”

Harry grabs his arse, massaging the overheated flesh and smiling as Merlin squirms. “No need to be so quiet, darling.” When he brushes a fingertip through the cleft, Merlin swears. “That’s it.”

“I meant to go to bed first,” Merlin says, taking both their cocks in one hand and beginning to stroke. Harry closes his eyes at the rub of skin on skin, how their foreskins pull back and forth against one another in this slick dance. The bottle of lube still sits untouched on the table, but already he can feel his focus tightening down on his balls. “Next time.”

Not two minutes later they come, almost simultaneously, into Merlin’s hand; Harry digs his fingertips into Merlin’s arse, probably leaving imprints. “Bloody cliche,” he mutters, as he comes down. “Fucking teenagers.”

“That’s illegal.” Merlin slides his lips over Harry’s, allowing them to pant little huffs of air into one another’s mouth. “Though I do feel like one.”

Heat still _burns_ near the base of Harry’s spine, a slow blaze that wraps around his thighs and back to his balls. When he looks down, it’s to find his spent cock twitching.

“Shit.”

Merlin looks down as well. He hasn’t let go of their pricks; already they’re beginning to fill again. He runs a fingertip around Harry’s crown and smiles as Harry exhales, pushing his face down onto Merlin’s shoulder.

“All’s well?”

“It doesn’t even hurt.” Merlin’s sweatered shoulder is soft but overwarm against Harry’s cheek; he rubs his nose back and forth along it like the horny puppy he’s beginning to fear he’s becoming. “It’s like...it’s like I want to go again, and it’s _there_. It will go.”

Merlin threads the sweaty fingers of one hand through Harry’s hair while he continues stroking the crown with the other. “Did you ever wonder what it might be like, to be a woman?”

Harry’s moan at the sensation of his cock filling again is muffled. He lifts his head slowly, eyes half closed. “One mark I ate out came three times under my tongue, in not even ten minutes. And there wasn’t even a mess to clean up.”

“Cause you ate it,” Merlin murmurs, “filthy thing.”

Harry’s cock leaps to full hardness in his hand.

“Not here; my prick is superpowered, but my back is not.”

Merlin pulls off him, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist. “Get the lube, then,” he says as they begin walking on trembling legs, trousers and pants hobbling their gait. Harry obeys, swiping the bottle from the table as they pass. “If I’m going to have to keep wanking us off, I’m going to get chafed.”

At the back of the lab is the double door that leads to Merlin’s emergency sleeping chamber. It’s a twin bed on a rough metal frame, a bedside table, a lamp, an adjoining bathroom, and air conditioning vents; Merlin stops to turn the temperature down farther as Harry pulls away to fall onto the bed, where he immediately starts wanking in an attempt to relieve the itch that seems to have taken hold of each vein in his body.

“You shit, I was doing that just fine,” Merlin says. Harry grunts and kicks at the trousers that have fallen to his ankles, unwilling to take his hand off his prick to remove them. “I’ll strip you, anyway.”

Harry arches his arse off the bed to allow Merlin to completely strip him, tossing trousers and pants on the floor and unbuttoning his shirt in record time. Before he can pull the shirt off, however, he begins mouthing at Harry’s navel, causing a distinctly ungentlemanly tittering.

“Merlin—Merlin, please—”

Merlin’s tongue is hot, licking along Harry’s stomach. Harry drapes an arm across his mouth to muffle the giggling that threatens to emerge as Merlin mouths his way down to his balls, taking both into his mouth in one slick motion. As Harry swears beneath his arm, Merlin uncaps the lube and drizzles it directly onto Harry’s cock.

“Fuck, that—but it’s so—”

And it is indeed _that_ , shockingly cold against Harry’s overheated prick, sending shivers up his spine nonetheless. Merlin releases his balls to mouth at the head of Harry’s cock as his fingers spread lube up and down his shaft.

“I want to ride,” Merlin whispers as he pulls completely off. “Give me your hand, love.”

Harry obeys, allowing Merlin to pour lube into his sweat-slippery right palm. “Warm it up for me.”

As Harry rubs his hands together dazedly, Merlin removes his own remaining articles of clothing and takes a seat across Harry’s hips. Harry grunts at the weight and transfers one slick hand to Merlin’s cock, which is as hard as his own; he puts a thumb against a vein and smiles at the thrum of blood.

“I could wank you off here, and it wouldn’t matter,” he says, tweaking the head. His voice, he knows, is slightly distant in the face of this evidence of superhuman arousal. “Would it even get soft?”

“Dunno.” Merlin lubes up several fingers on his right hand and pushes up, his thigh muscles twitching with the effort of holding his weight above Harry’s thighs. “We’ll find out.” His grin is filthy as he inserts a finger and closes his eyes in delight.

“You can go slow,” Harry murmurs, rubbing Merlin’s shaft with one hand and his own with the other. “Shit doesn’t make your arse lube itself up.”

“Wouldn’t that be a marvel.” Merlin inserts a second finger. “Maybe that’s what I should get on.”

“My cock, first, if you please.”

“As you wish.”

Harry can’t help but wince as Merlin, after barely a minute of prep, slides himself onto Harry’s prick. The moan he releases goes a long way toward easing Harry’s grimace—Merlin’s brogue, deep and already straining at the edges, has long since worn a direct path to his cock.

“Goddamn, this is definitely—thicker—” Merlin’s voice dies away as he begins sliding up and down. Harry cups his hips and assists his motion. “Like a bottle shoved up my arse.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.” Harry pistons his hips to meet Merlin’s, moaning himself. “ _Too_ thick.”

“No such thing.”

“Cockslut.”

“Aye.” Merlin strokes himself as he continues to rise and fall. His body is absurdly hot around Harry, a miniature furnace, and on each upstroke his muscles constrict, pulling drops of precome from Harry’s cock. “Like anyone doesn’t want your big cock up them.”

Harry shudders, another jolt of lust flooding his system.

“Probably the thickest cock I’ve ever had,” Merlin murmurs, squeezing his knees against Harry’s flank and forcing out another moan. “And now it’s so—God, I ought to sell this shit online. ‘Do you want a prick the size of Harry Hart’s?’”

The edges of Harry’s vision are beginning to blur once more. “Oh, fuck—like that means—anything—”

“Could have you model it. I’d suck you first, till you were fuckin’ raging hard, then take photos. ‘Come get my man’s thick cock.’ ‘One fast way to a thick cock.’”

 _Sounds like prostitution_ , Harry tries to say, but his throat has gone completely dry. He comes instead, less than his normal volume spilling up into Merlin’s arse as Merlin sings his praises to the ceiling.

“That’s it, _God_ , yes, I’m definitely selling this shit.”

When Harry’s vision returns, it’s to the sight of Merlin still astride him, wanking industriously. Harry takes over for him, cupping the head of Merlin’s cock.

“That’s it, make this thing blow.”

Merlin snorts. “Terrible.”

Harry twists his grip, licks the taste of salt from his own sweaty lips, flexes his hips. His own cock still blazes within Merlin’s arse. “Wanna see how hard it stays afterward.”

The answer, as it turns out, after Merlin’s shot a load into midair and, eventually, onto Harry’s chest, is _very_. Harry stares as Merlin pulls himself off his cock and lies down alongside him, his legs thrown over Harry’s to make up for the lack of space in the narrow bed. Harry himself turns on his side to make more room, smiling as he feels Merlin’s cock press up against his arse.

“You want it, it’s yours,” Harry murmurs as Merlin nuzzles at his neck. His own cock is still hard as well, though his previous energy is fading; the sensation of his veins on fire has faded to be mostly just a persistent burn in his prick.

Merlin massages his arse, first the left cheek and then the right, trailing a thick finger over his hole as Harry shivers. “I could,” he whispers, stroking again. Sparks dart up Harry’s spine; he groans. “What if I fucked your thighs instead?”

The last time Harry was taken Oxford style by Merlin was more than a year previously, rutting naked outside a pool on their joint working vacation just outside Naples. They’d followed a Sicilian _capo_ up to the peninsula for a weekend, like the most absurd gangster film from the 1970s; they’d ended up in a porno, Merlin fucking his thighs, Harry coming in spurts across the deck of their safehouse while Merlin worked two of his broad fingers up his arse. Harry’s heart had not stopped pounding for a solid ten minutes afterward, and just the suggestion of it now has him fighting back pants.

“ _Take_ them, fuck, Merlin.”

It’s luxurious to have his inner thighs coated in lube, Merlin’s fingertips drawing up and down his skin until he has goosebumps. It’s even better to have Merlin’s chest pressed tightly against his own back and arse as he inserts his cock. Harry squeezes with the most thigh strength he can muster to create a decent gap and lets his mind fly to the slick sounds.

It takes five minutes or so for Merlin to really get into the thrusting; by the time he’s built up a steady rhythm, one hand is back on Harry’s cock, startling him from his memories of the Naples scene. The drag of callus along Harry’s shaft is delicious, skin catching on skin on a gritty cellular level, but the rush of heat is almost too much; for the first time in his life, the flesh is willing while the spirit is growing weak, and his breath is coming more and more quickly, even as he lies nearly motionless.

“This almost hurts.” Merlin’s voice is an awed whisper in his ear, and Harry smiles at the wall before him as Merlin drapes his spare arm around his waist. “It’s like my body can’t stop, but…”

“Bet we’ll dry come.”

Merlin’s laugh sputters against his neck. “Haven’t done that since I was nineteen. Wanked three times in a row. Was chafed.”

“I can see it.” And Harry can, too, a young, bullish Merlin with his hands down his pants, frantically wanking off in the shower, on a brilliant red duvet, while sitting in mission command with Harry up on the comms. “You ever….wanked to me? While working?”

Merlin pulls lightly on the head of his cock; Harry chokes back a cry. “Once.”

“Honeypot?”

“Suit in Beijing.”

Lost in pleasure, it takes Harry a moment to conjure up the mission: distracting two bank executives while Percival burned the third with a photograph of him with one of the others’ wives.

“ _Fucker_.” His voice is thin with both exhaustion and awe. “Percy was—working—”

Merlin’s pace speeds up; he bites down lightly on Harry’s shoulder. “And you were in your best suit, and Arthur—was gone.”

“Can’t leave you unsupervised.”

Another bite, and Harry’s smile threatens to swallow his face as, for the third time in less than an hour, his vision narrows. When he comes, it’s with only a tiny spurt; his prick convulses for several moments after that, producing nothing.

“Go again and it’ll be barren,” Merlin remarks, thrusting frantically between his thighs. “Male birth control.”

Harry’s aware mostly of the heat of Merlin against him and the sheets beneath them both; he forces his thighs to contract one final time and holds them tight, squeezing Merlin’s hand in its position on his hip. He feels Merlin’s cock jump as he crashes down at last, one long, thin strand of come landing on his skin.

“Excuse me if I never move again,” Merlin mumbles. Harry can feel both the pounding of his heart and the rigidness of his cock between his thighs; his own cock throbs, and he feels his head pound in response.

“Don’t even need to fuck the mark on this—just let them go mad with lust.”

“Wank ’emselves to death. God, I’m _still_ fuckin’ hard.”

“I know.” Harry turns to kiss him, drinking in the taste of Merlin’s sweat. “May I nap first?”

“Christ, my cock will break off if I use it again.” Merlin pulls Harry yet closer to him, lethargically kneads his lower legs. “Let’s see what the comedown is on this bastard.”

Merlin’s body heat is making his back all the sweatier, and his legs have lost all sensation aside from where Merlin touches him. Harry grunts nonetheless and rubs his face in close to Merlin’s neck as they breathe in tandem.

* * *

For a moment when Harry’s eyes open it’s just another day, Merlin’s morning breath seeping into his nostrils, a headache building behind his bad eye, and his cock taking a vague interest in the proceedings. He stares into the middle distance for a moment, rubbing his temples and squirming against the mattress as his prick twitches, until the fact that a face is staring back at him becomes apparent, as does the fact that neither he nor Merlin, sleepily nuzzling his neck, is wearing a single stitch of clothing.

“Fuck off,” he says as the face resolves itself into Eggsy’s. “ _God_ , no.” He reaches for the bedsheet pooled at their feet.

Merlin sits up and groans. “Another locked door, Unwin. Does knocking mean nothing to you?”

“Morgana sent me,” Eggsy answers, jingling a set of keys in midair. “Feared you’d up and died and taken Arthur with you.”

“Not dead, just wanked out.” Merlin gets to his feet, still entirely nude and half-hard, and begins walking over to the clothes strewn across the floor as Harry covers himself with the sheet. “What time is it?”

“Half six. No need to worry, Harry, you’re grand.” Eggsy’s grin is entirely too smug.

“If I cared what you thought of my cock, I’d thank you,” Harry grumbles, sitting up. “I’m already taken, as you might have noticed.”

“What, by that big bloke?” Eggsy winks. “Maybe he’s the one I want anyway.”

“My cock is not for sale, amazingly,” Merlin tells him, pulling a towel around his waist. “And I’m still bloody hard— _fuck_ , Eggsy, how’d you get off so easy the other day?”

“I didn’t, though, did I? Was the problem. Sounds like I lost, yeah?”

“Trust us,” Harry says, accepting another towel from Merlin and wrapping it around his waist under the folds of the sheet, “after the third go there’s no pleasure in it.”

“You ever wanked yourself till it hurt, Unwin?” Merlin adds. “Or you’re with someone who wants more sex than you do? This is that, but your body against your mind.”

Eggsy’s grin fades somewhat. “Yeah, fair. Sounds shit.” He taps a pointer finger against his mouth and looks up at the ceiling before adding, “Still, good while you want it, innit?”

Harry, lurching to his feet, slaps Eggsy’s shoulder. “Get going. Merlin and I have to shower, and you are not invited.”

“You got a shower back here too?” Eggsy shakes his head. “Living big, Merl. Living big.” He disappears before Harry can scold him further.

“Please shower with me, _Merl_ ,” Harry says once he’s gone, letting his towel fall to the floor once more and dodging a swat from Merlin’s. He touches his jutting cock lightly with one hand and winces at the contact. “No fuckery, though. How am I to put clothes on with this thing?”

“Back to secondary school tactics. You’ll figure out a way to hide it.” Merlin brushes his own cock, grimaces, and heads for the bathroom door. “It’s a tight fit for two anyway, you know that—keep your hands off my arse and we’ll do okay.”

“That’s asking rather a lot, any day,” Harry mumbles as he follows, taking care to gather up both towels on his way into the bathroom. Merlin has already turned on the shower and jumped underneath the spray of water.

“Get your arse in here before I flood the place.”

Harry deposits the towels on the narrow bit of counter alongside the sink and slides in, closing the shower door behind him. The water is, to his disgust, lukewarm at best.

“You—”

“Cold shower time!” Merlin pulls his face up for a kiss that makes Harry’s legs wobble. “Good morning, Arthur.”

“Good fucking morning, Merlin.” Harry slaps Merlin’s nearest arsecheek and almost trips trying to avoid the returning slug. “Good fucking morning.”

“Isn’t it just?” Merlin whispers, into his hair this time, and Harry, despite his headache, sore thighs, and itching cock, knows he’s right.


End file.
